


Of Cafes and Lattes

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Jon, F/M, Pastry Chef Sansa, Short & Sweet, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: I rest my arms on the counter, seeing an empty Darcy’s once again but all troubles about the shop flutters away as I can still clearly picture him from last night—watching me from the pavement, eating all those cookies, saying unfathomable things about not closing Darcy’s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just one of those fine and funny things I've written before that I retrofitted again for my Jonsa loves. This two-part story is in Sansa's POV. I hope you enjoy. :)

 

I hate it.

There is a long line of customers waiting, looking merry and hungry and excited. The line is so long I don’t even know where it ends. There’s a huge banner up at the front of the _Corner Avenue Cafe_ , welcoming each customer:

_FREE FRENCH LATTE. TODAY ONLY!_

I hate it. I hate it I hate it.

I hate it so much that I almost tear the dishtowel in my hands. Both my pout and frown are becoming more and more etched onto my face as each day goes by. And it’s been five days. Five damned days of looking at Corner Avenue Cafe across from my own—the ever famous, the ever loving, the ever-delicious makers of blueberry muffin and specially brewed coffee— _Darcy’s_ , whose patrons are now merrily and hungrily clamoring for stupid French lattes by the stupid new and modernized so-called coffee shop, Corner Avenue Cafe, owned by an even more stupid so-called restaurateur.

Running across the street, I finally see Arya, pulling her cap down before entering Darcy’s, afraid that someone would recognize her in her disguise. As she enters, she closes the store’s blinds and removes her cap.

“Sansa, I got it!” she exclaims, actually raising a paper cup of the stupid French latte from the Corner Ave, its black cup and white font so temptingly in front of me I want to burn it. Stomping my foot, I walk closer to Arya as she settles the cup down in one of our tables. We study it for a while as if it’s some alien or meteorite so foreign we don’t know what to do with it.

“Want me to have a go at it?” Arya asks me, moving closer to the table, slowly reaching for the cup.

“No!” I exclaim, throwing the dishtowel. “I will do it.”

I feel as if I am getting executed. I take a deep breath as I lightly push Arya away and finally face the damn cup. I look at it and it looks at me, all in its black glory. I feel my anger rise even further because who would want to drink their lattes in stupid black cups? We have our drink in a welcoming white color paper cups, our logo endearing and charming (two rolling pins crossed above the calligraphy of the shop’s name—unlike Corner Avenue that has theirs in stupid white, rigid, bold font), and the taste—we sell only the best. Arya took her undercover work so wholeheartedly she actually bought a wig yesterday (but in which she showed off on the streets last night that the stupid owner of Corner actually saw her she resorted to my old, beaten cap instead).

“Brace yourself.” Arya rallies behind me as I finally move closer to the cup. I open the lid; hot moisture comes out and I almost want to cry. It smells wonderful. I clear my throat as I hear Arya take a deep breath as well and I see her shrugging apologetically. I compose myself, shaking away any other thoughts and then, I move in for the kill.

I take the stupid cup and finally take a sip.

Damn.

Damn.

I hate it.

I feel myself crying now but I try not to. So instead I offer the cup to Arya, who hurriedly takes a sip of her own, and I look away as I see the surprise and delight flash on her face.

“Oh my,” she says as I walk away, grabbing the dishtowel I’ve thrown. I am back behind the shop’s counter, trying to wipe the bar when Arya speaks again.

“It’s good. Geez, it’s really good.”

I ignore her, annoyed because I can’t find any reason to insult Corner Avenue anymore because they are, indeed, serving good drinks. I surrender and sigh, resting my elbows on the counter and placing my head on my hands and finally start to sulk.

“Aw, Sans.” Arya says. “If it comforts you, I hear Jon’s single. And damn, he’s also hot.”

  
**

 

Jon.

Jon Snow.

I’ve only seen him twice—once when Corner Avenue opened a few days back and second, when he was closing shop and saw me and Arya with the wig. I try not to stare at him to long lest I burn him with my fiery stare, but in the short span of time I did look, Arya wasn’t lying.

Jon, stupid Jon, is a looker. But that doesn’t save him from my wrath because he almost took away half of my patrons—if not for lovable Mrs. Mormont who still sits patiently in one of our booths and wait for her friends for their early round of tea and gossip.

“Oh, darling.” She spoke to me one time as I served her tea and was possibly looking murderous at the grand opening happening across the street, “Darcy’s will always remain a favorite of our town! Yours is an institution! This will be over soon, you’ll see. The people are just interested because it’s new. But they always come back. Always.”            

I almost cried then but suddenly Arya shouted from the kitchen (because she almost broke another milkshake glass) that the moment was lost. But still, it was memorable.             

I continue to wipe the already gleaming counter top so that I could avoid looking at Corner Avenue and compare it to my still almost empty Darcy’s. There are only three people inside when normally we get fifteen this time of the day. I feel my heart break every time I look up from the counter top as if a bulldozer just came running and hit me squarely on the chest. So aside from cleaning and wiping, I just also try to reward myself with the heavenly scent of the freshly baked goods from the kitchen that Arya’s about to display and remind myself of Mrs. Mormont’s words. _They always come back. Always._

I am actually about to smile, thinking of the warm, soft buns from the oven when out of the blue, I see someone from Corner Avenue cross the street and into my shop. The bell rings as the door opens and lo and behold, enemy number one has just entered my threshold. I keep my face steady and stoic—careful not to show my anger and confusion.

Jon has the confidence to actually look around the shop but his face is unreadable so I don’t know what he made out of my empty store. I ignored the lump in my throat because I know he’s judging and he knows that he’s winning. I want to throw him out of my shop but I remind myself that I am a good hostess and even if the devil has come in, I would be an angel.

“Good morning.” I say as he finally moves closer.

“Hi,” his voice is deep but almost raspy. He offers a smile and raises a hand where I finally notice he’s carrying cups from his store. “I’ve brought you guys something.”

The nerve. The nerve of this show-off, wannabe, scruffy-looking, but absolutely gorgeous man to bring his drinks over at my own shop! I want to scream at him but I force myself not to because Mrs. Mormont is now about to open the door of the shop and I don’t want to alarm her or anything. We both turn as the bell door rings but Mrs. Mormont doesn’t take notice and Jon turns to me once more.

“Here, we’ve got some extra lattes from the kitchen and I realized I haven’t really formally introduced myself to you, being the newbie here.” he continues. “I’m Jon. I’ve met your sister, Arya, a couple of days ago and I think I saw her at the shop earlier, too. Your name’s Sansa, right?”

Damn. I want to cry. I want to cry but Jon is still here and he’s funnily looking at me already because I have been silent since I greeted him.

“Just... just wanted to drop these off,” he adds almost unsurely because I still keep my mouth shut. He places the cups on the counter and I look at it as if he put some bug in front of me.

I hear him sigh.

“Look, I just really want to give these.” he tells me. “As a gift. A neighborly gift.”

I hear myself almost snorting as I finally look up, feeling his notion to be almost challenging—neighborly, friendly? Please!

Jon slightly backs away when I don’t change my expression.

Shortly though, he snorts and shrugs. “Alright. That’s how you want it.” He shakes his head. “I’m actually trying to be friendly here, Sansa.”

He pauses and waits for me to answer but I remain silent. So, he shakes his head and looks around once more. And in that sarcastic, unforgiving, man-from-hell tone, he smirks, “Oh, and nice shop by the way. Full house.”

I hate him. I hate him and I want to kill him. I feel my anger rising and my teeth clench I only manage to say, “Go away.”

Walking backwards, almost heaving, Jon gives me a small salute before turning and walking back to his own shop. I take the cups with me in the kitchen and threw them with much fury.

 

**

 

Arya tried to console me when she noticed me hurling the paper cups at the back alleyway of Darcy’s. In the kitchen as I continue to sob, she gave me one of the freshly baked muffins that it slightly made me feel better.

“Oh, just don’t worry about him, Sans. Maybe he is just trying to be friendly.”

“What, giving out his food to the needy?”

“Sans,”

“Please, Arya. Just mind the shop for me.”

So here I am hours later and I’ve baked trays and trays of cookies for God knows who since I can’t even sell five worth of trays since Corner Avenue opened its doors. I look at the cookies, so plentiful, so warm, and beautiful, that I can’t comprehend the thought that soon, if this keeps up, I might have to close and stop baking. My eyes start to water that I disregard the last batch of dough and walk-out of the kitchen, seeing an empty, darkened, and closed Darcy’s realizing it’s already late at night.

Somberly, I walk around and feel each of the wooden tables and benches, feeling as if this would be the last time I can all touch them. I go to the bookshelf and smile as I see the worn-out romance novels and detective fiction that most of the university kids frequently read when they still hang-out here. The black and white paintings that hang at my bricked wall are a little dusty but I don’t mind and still run my hands through the edges. I stop in the corner and try to digest my surroundings—my little shop once so full of life and food and laughter suddenly becomes this empty window display. The smell of the cookies still hung so painfully in the air that it makes me cry to realize no one is on the shop to enjoy it except for me, under the mere yellow pin lights.              

Taking another deep breath, shaking myself awake from the nightmare because I know there’s still tons of work in the kitchen, I wipe my eyes and walk to turn off the lights. But as I move, I see him again.             

Jon.            

He’s on my side of the road, on the pavement, hands inside his sweater and he’s studying me, looking curious and intent. I feel another wave of embarrassment and anger that my face turn into my automatic bitch-mode face and ignore him. I stride the room, anger swelling in my chest but I hear hurried knocks on the glass door.         

“Wait!” Jon muffles from the outside.

I’m almost in the kitchen but Jon keeps on knocking that I actually contemplate and stop in my tracks. If I face him, what have I to lose? He has insulted me already and he can’t do anything anymore to hurt me. But if I ignore him, he can use that snobbery to further destroy me.           

I turn around and finally face him. I keep my composure as I unlock the door.             

“What?” I say as the door opens.              

He exhales and smiles. “I deserve that.”             

I raise an eyebrow.              

“About earlier,” Jon explains. “I shouldn’t have dropped in on you like that—and with the shop’s latte too. That was...”               

“Rude?”              

He looks sheepish, “Yeah, rude.”              

We stand in silence as I still debate whether or not to accept his apology.               

“Are you still baking?” Jon suddenly asks, slightly turning his head to see behind me.              

Disturbed, I frown and almost mumble, “Wha—”               

“It smells good, chocolate chip?” he gives me a lopsided smile and it took me off-guard I am prompted to look away.               

“Uhm, yeah.” I nod. “Dark chocolates.”              

“Nice.”             

I dare myself to look back at him again, thinking that ignoring him and not looking directly at his eyes would completely create _new meaning_ and that is not what it means. No, really, it’s not!

So, slowly, I move my head and damn, he’s still staring. When he doesn’t budge despite me looking directly and questioningly in front of him, I give out a sigh and roll my eyes. This man is absolutely tiring and I can’t afford to waste an ounce of energy for him. The faster I get this over with, the better.

“C’mon, let’s get you some.” I finally tell him, opening the door widely and letting him in.

 

 

**

 

I lead Jon into the kitchen, unmindful of the warning bells in my head that tell me I’m absolutely crazy for leading him to my shop’s secrets. At this point, I honestly don’t know if having him in the kitchen would do me any worse seeing that he’s practically capable of doing it on his own.

I push the kitchen doors open and the delicious and homey smell of the cookies whiffs around me I’ve forgotten I am with someone for a moment I am transported into my dreamland of cookies and cakes I actually close my eyes.

I am only about to reach the cream puff house when Jon whistles behind me.

“Have you been baking the whole day?” he asks me, carrying two trays of cookies and looking at the other—uhm, twenty or so more on the steel counter. “Are you going to a children’s party or something?”

I roll my eyes again and take the trays, setting them down back on the table.

“I’ve been distressing, if you have to know.” I say defensively. “And I’m sure you probably know the reason why.” 

He smiles and shrugs, acting innocent but his eyes gleams. I turn away to grab some paper bags for his take-outs.  

“It’s been really rough.”

I see him lean on the table and put his hands back in the pockets of his sweater. “It’s business. And I seem to be on some pretty good competition here.”

I snort and hand him a cool tray of cookies again, “Here, have some and see for yourself.”

He gives a little bow as he takes one cookie. I watch him chew and frown as he’s digesting and reflecting on my creation. With a nod,

“That’s some insane, cookies, Sansa.”

I pretend not to notice and I don’t ask but I wonder how he knew my name. I shrug at him and offered him the entire tray and in which he fully accepts.

“Seriously, these are really, really, really, good.”

I walk around to the other side of the table and start to load the brown paper bag.

“Family recipe. And in which I won’t tell you.” 

“I don’t mind.” he says, munching on what seems to be his third cookie. “I’m just happy eating here.”

“I bet.”

“This is a really nice town, you know.” he tells me, looking very comfortable with his surroundings here in _my_ kitchen. “Never been to a quaint and sophisticated town as this.”

“I believe it was even better.”

“Before I came?”

I don’t hesitate because it feels like he’s challenging me so I look up from what I’m doing and point-blank say, “Yes. So much better.”

He laughs loudly, nods, and happily takes another cookie. I walk back around and when I reach him, I give him the cookie bag.

“Here, take this home with you. It’s possibly going to be the last time I’d be baking this for a long time.”

He frowns, “Why’s that? This seems like a best-seller.”

“It was.”

Jon keeps still before exhaling. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though.” I explain again and push the bag to him again. “It’s only been a few days but it’s killing me.”

“Sansa,”

“You’re killing me.”

“This is business, you can’t just give up, you have to...”

“I’d probably be closing soon because...”

“... just enjoy the compe—closing? Why are you closing?”

“... I will not be able to afford the expenses anymore, the ingredients, all these...”

“.... closing is the stupidest thing to do, I hear you are the best...”

“...maybe it’s time to move on and away from here...”

“... don’t be ridiculous...”

“...maybe just go to Paris and marry a prince or build my spaceship and write a song. Or maybe I could train as a zookeeper. I do love some animals. You know how swans and lobsters stay with their mate for the rest of their lives? Yeah, they do, like really. Or maybe, maybe I could start a new business! Car rentals? But that sounds weird—”

“Sansa,”

“... boutique stores? I love vintage, you know.”

“Sansa.”

“... or I could teach? Yeah! That’s absolutely a great idea I could have workshops and all that, have cooking lessons and wha—”

He’s kissing me. Jon, stupid Jon, is kissing me. He pulls away even before I could take it all in, my senses all in shock I can’t look away even if I want to.

“Sansa, shut up.” he says finally, holding me in arm’s length.

**

 

I remain quiet about the whole thing with Jon. I couldn’t even remember what happened after but I know he forgot to bring with him the bag of cookies because Arya complained about it earlier saying it would get spoiled. She doesn’t ask questions but she gives me side-way glances whenever I pass by the kitchen but I ignore her. I can’t even wrap my head around what happened and my hand is throbbing painfully I can’t even wipe the counter top.  

The entire day I try avoiding looking at Corner Avenue but sometimes I see Jon in his black apron serving his customers, all jolly and as if nothing trivial has happened last night. I sigh as a thought occurs to me because I may be the only one making a huge deal out of it. Maybe it doesn’t bother him one bit because it’s not important to him. Maybe a kiss is something he just gives away so nonchalantly to strangers. Maybe I’m just over thinking things because nothing happened last night. Just that kiss and then all hazy after.      

I rest my arms on the counter, seeing an empty Darcy’s once again but all troubles about the shop flutters away as I can still clearly picture him from last night—watching me from the pavement, eating all those cookies, saying unfathomable things about not closing Darcy’s and then abruptly just kissed me. He was so close then that I remember smelling the aroma of pastries that hung to him from his own kitchen; he was so close I can see the stubble that grow in his jaw line; he was so close that I can’t help but be amazed at how handsome he truly looks—dark eyes, long nose, strong features. But behind his undeniable good looks, as I continue to wipe again the already gleaming counter top, one question remains in my head.         

“Why did you kiss me, Jon?” I murmur.

The day ends uneventfully and the cash registry remains tad bit empty but I am just glad that I can finally go home and think about things again where Arya nor Jon from his shop’s window can disturb me. But I am just closing the shop door when I hear him.               

“Hey,” he says from behind me.              

I keep quiet, momentarily regaining sense and composure, and then I take a deep breath before turning around, knowing that I can’t just possibly ignore Jon.               

“Hi,” I reply and offering him a small wave.             

“Hi,” he echoes me. “I’m just wondering how you’re doing. I mean... you know...”               

I can’t answer him because I don’t know what I feel about it. So I just give him a smile and a shrug.               

“You can definitely hit a man.” he chuckles.               

Wait, I can what?              

“What do you mean?” I ask him.             

Jon frowns at me, but seeing my complete confusion, he laughs. “Oh, Sansa.”             

“What?”              

He smiles almost so affectionately I can’t help but feel shy. “Sansa, you are absolutely one of a kind.”               

“Tell me!” I now insist, moving closer and wanting to shake him. “Tell me now!”               

“Sansa, you punched me.” he smirks, pointing at the lower left side of his lips where a bruise is taking shape. It’s small but quite evident I almost cringe.             

“I did that?” I ask.             

“Seriously, you don’t remember?”            

I shake my head. But that clearly explains the slight numbing in my right hand. “I guess I was too overwhelmed.”               

“You bet.” he affirms this. I look up and he’s smiling at me as if punching him is no big deal and that he has actually enjoyed it. I try to smile back despite that cold trickle of embarrassment I already feel at my back.               

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, looking down at my shoes.              

He’s quiet for a while and then I see him moving closer until our feet are almost touching.

“Just one thing, Sansa.” he lifts my chins, forcing me to look at him. “Do you regret the kiss?”

My eyes widen and I don’t know what to say. He’s looking at me with such intensity as if he wants to kiss me—does he want to kiss me again? Now? 

Do I want to kiss him again?

“Do you regret it?” he asks me one more time, leaning in closer. “Do you regret it? Do you regret that kiss because Sansa, you have to know, _I surely don’t_.”

He’s so close we are basically sharing the same breath, so close that I don’t have any more time to actually move, so close that there is not enough space in the world where I won’t be able to kiss him because I really want to. So, it took no amount of effort from both our ends to feel as if the kiss is forced and a choice. Because as we kiss again under Darcy’s marquee, I know I don’t regret it at all.

               

**

 

I didn’t punch Jon again. I was fully aware of what was happening—fully aware of the kiss that I actually enjoyed it. And right after, there was a stupid grin across our faces and he had actually accompanied me on my way home. Before I went in, we did the preamble and exchanged numbers, goofily talking as we realized how we’re doing all of it backwards but we didn’t care.  He kissed me hard one last time before going on his way.

This morning I received a message from him, greeting me a pleasant day. And in front of Darcy’s as I open up was a brown bag with a full-packed breakfast meal from the small deli shop three blocks away. There was a note that says:

_Not my cooking because I’m trying to be friendly and neighborly. I hope I’m doing it right this time._

And as I turned around and looked at Corner Avenue, there he was, looking so devilishly handsome and looking at me again, a coffee mug on one hand and giving me a salute on the other. 

I’m just enjoying my turkey sandwich when Arya enters the shop and frowns at me.

“You’re happy.” she observes. “And it’s terrifying. Usually this time you’re up on your binoculars trying to spy on the competition.”

I roll my eyes at her. “I don’t use binoculars.” 

“Oh, right! You use the dishtowel and wipe the counter top, say, two million times a day.”

“Arya,” I groan at her. “Just stop.”

“What’s with you?” she insists.

Definitely not telling her. “Nothing!”

I return to my sandwich and ignore Arya when a posh looking lady enters the shop with a cup of drink from Corner Avenue.

“Hey,” she says. “The owner at the other cafe says you guys bake the best chocolate chips. I just really need some sugar fix right now. Important meeting in a few. Do you mind?”

Arya is up on her heels and leads the lady to the counter, becoming the best hostess that she really is. But me? I remain in my chair at the corner table, my sandwich hang in mid-air, my mouth half-open and my mind trying to comprehend what the lady just said.  

_The owner at the other cafe says you guys bake the best chocolate chip..._

_The owner at the other cafe..._

_The owner..._

I put down the sandwich and pull my phone out and text Jon:

_You shouldn’t have done that._

It takes less than a minute when he answers back: _But I just did_.

I don’t know what to say. And glancing at Arya as she prepares the cookies, she smiles at me knowingly and mouthed, _Flirt!_

The entire day, we have customers coming in and asking for the cookies. Some are actually old patrons who seem to miraculously remember that Darcy’s has once upon a time fed them delicious food and drinks that I actually hear them say, “So glad I ate here again today!”, “God, I do miss this place.”, “Nothing beats their muffins, honestly.”

Darcy’s almost looks like how it was used to be before Corner Avenue came in. I steal glances towards Jon’s shop and it still seems to be busy as ever but the number of customers running to-and-fro the two coffee shops is such an endearing sight I could look at it all day.

I was impatient for the day to end because I want to see Jon so badly and thank him personally for what he did. And so, as Arya bids her goodbye, leaving ahead to meet with Gendry, she winks at me and says a job well done, I close Darcy’s and hurriedly cross the street to Corner Avenue. The door’s still open and the kitchen lights are visible from the outside. Careful not to topple any of the upturned chairs, I make my way to the back, excitement giving me all the courage I need. As I near, I hear the soft melodies of jazz music and then there, as I finally swing the kitchen door open, in the corner, washing the remaining dishes, Jon is nodding to the beat.             

“Jon,” I breathe.             

He looks up and is surprised to find me all disheveled looking, exhausted possibly because of adrenaline. “Sans?” 

I realize I’m breathing fast and there’s ringing in my ears because all my emotions are just swelling inside me and this incredible man is starting to totally flip my whole world around. As he still wonders of my presence in his shop, wiping his hands on a towel, I make my way. 

I turn him to me and press my lips into his—possessively and gratefully. I wrap my arms around his neck then part myself slightly from him so that I could say a breathy, 

“Thank you.”              

Jon looks even more determined as I finally say it again because I may have started this entire thing, but right now, he’s definitely taking the lead. He grips my waist, almost carrying me, pushing me backwards until I feel the cold steel counter. I groan with his longing and I know there’s nothing more important than this kitchen, the jazz music, and Jon’s lips on mine.

 

**

There’s a piece of chive on Jon’s chest. I try to remove it without waking him up, but I fail.

“What?” he murmurs, stirring awake.

I shrug and hold my laughter, “I’m sorry. There’s a chive.”

“A chive?” he asks groggily, embracing me closer and trying to pull me back to him as we lay on the steel counter.

“Yeah, a chive.” I pick it up and show it. “Funny, eh?” 

He gives me a smirk and snuggles closer. “Don’t go yet, Sansa.”

I laugh because he almost sounded pleading but I indulge him. I scoot closer and wrap my legs around his waist again. As he closes his eyes, a thought occurs to me.              

“Jon,” I ask. He grunts in response. “How did you know my name?”              

He opens his eyes and smiles warmly, as if remembering a certain thought too. “First day I was scouting around town I dropped by your cafe. I guess you don’t remember but I remember seeing you work behind the kitchen and I was so impressed by you. I mean, how many times can a guy say that they’ve had a hot chick cook food for them? Damn. Best day of my life.”

I nudge him playfully but he continues. “And you were wearing a cap that day. I remember.”

_Oh..._

“And then just a few days ago, I saw that cap again. Only this time, it wasn’t you who was wearing it. So I plucked up the courage and asked your sister. I told her she looks better without it and she grumbles about the cap being her older sister, _Sansa’s_. And that’s when I knew.”

I frown at him in wonderment and he chuckles. “What, do you think I haven’t done anything to get to know you? You belittle me, Sansa.”

I punch him lightly, realizing now how he’s actually trying to get to know me all this time when all I did was to insult and curse him. After a while I ask him another nagging question.

“What happens now?” I whisper. “To our cafes?”

He pulls me tighter and I feel him shrug. “Nothing. We’ll try to make both work.”

“How’s that even possible?” I look up at him. “We’re competitors.”

“Not if we can do something about it?”

Jon doesn’t elaborate but my brain cells are picking it up and I can’t deny how that idea warms me.

“Let’s not think about it yet, shall we?” he speaks again. “It’s too early to talk about business, anyway.”

I laugh and but insist that we have to, indeed, move along lest his employees catch us naked in his kitchen. We quickly dress and I’m just about to say goodbye when he wraps his arms around me.

“I’ll walk you.”            

It’s cold as we cross the street and we huddle together as I open up Darcy’s.             

“You don’t happen to have any of the chocolate chip cookies now, do you? I’ll pay I promise.” Jon inquires.               

Laughing and pulling him in as I got the door open, I lead him back to another kitchen—my kitchen—and we start to bake. We’re halfway on our second batch—and impatiently waiting for the first ones to cool so we can finally take a bite—when Arya comes in and shrieked.            

“Damn, you two!” she exclaims. After she composes and helps herself with a cookie, she proudly jeers and teases us. “Can I just say to the both of you that _I knew it all along_?”

I roll my eyes at her as Jon chuckles. And just when Jon excuses himself for the bathroom, Arya leans in closer to me but loudly asks:

“So, I guess this means we can have free French lattes now, too, right?” she shouts.

Then in the distance, I hear Jon laugh before answering with a resounding, “Absolutely.”

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale :)

Thump!               

Thump! 

Thump!

“Jon,”

“Unhh.”

“Jon,”               

The steel table is cold. Stupidly cold. But Jon is still on top of me—thrown me most likely after I entered a darkened _Corner Avenue_ —chairs upturned at front and here in the kitchen where Jon is more or less _ravishing_ me, there is simply chaos.             

“I think those are a bunch of chives I’m crushing underneath.” I try to explain as he still grunts above me.          

“Don’t care...” he whispers, still so much in the heat of passion.              

Laughter almost escapes me but I hug him tightly instead and let myself go, realizing I haven’t had him for almost two weeks now. And it seems that I am not the only one missing this.               

“God, Sansa...” Jon shudders. “I missed you...”               

“Missed you too, babe.” I also struggle to say as we near that sweet, sweet, sweet, delight.            

I know the moments over when I feel all of Jon’s weight on me and how his short stubble tickle my neck as he snuggles.             

“You smell good,” he muffles.               

“I smell like chives.”               

“I love chives.”               

“Apparently.”               

He looks up and rests on his elbows, releasing me and lifting his two hundred-pound damned sexy self off of me.

“Welcome home.” Jon says with an easy smile. “How was the trip?”               

“Well, seeing that you are competitive enough to make me forget the moment I stepped foot in here, I have to say I have no memory of it at all!”               

He chuckles and gives me a quick kiss. “No, seriously...”              

“Well,”             

I was on a short trip with my mother. It was a vacation trip, sure, with Arya and Jon taking care of Darcy’s for me but what was supposed to be a vacation trip with her up in the north became more like a business meeting just because I brought up my plan (together with Jon) to merge Corner Avenue and Darcy’s—which in all fairness is already hanging for more than a year now.

I still haven’t had the chance to share about my mother’s reaction to Jon (considering that he swooped me down almost instantly the moment I walked inside his kitchen) and I am still pondering on how I am actually going to do that because my mother wasn’t—isn’t—thrilled about it. And when I say isn’t thrilled it means she’s totally against it.              

“Hey,” I hear Jon as he smooths my forehead. “What’s up? Was the trip bad?”              

Well, if he considers my mother’s nostrils almost flaring up and almost shouting profanities at me while _still_ at the hotel lobby, then yes, it was bad.               

“So?” he urges. “Talk to me, Sansa.”              

I sigh underneath him and take all the gorgeousness of this man before I decide to tell him anyway. My mother would be berating him soon so why not now.               

“It wasn’t the best.” I finally say, tracing nonsensical patterns on his shoulder.             

“Oh?”               

“Well, I did mention about the merger and my mother...”               

Jon exhaled. “What do we do? Are we cancelling?”              

Then after a moment, he asks me almost as if doubting. “Are you cancelling on me?”

 

**

 

               

I don’t speak for good five seconds that Jon gets off me and arranges himself. I still lay there, watching him, and ignoring the squishy feeling of the chives still on my back.               

“Jon,” I say as he starts to get back washing the dishes on the sink—which I find very embarrassing considering that I am still half-naked on his kitchen table.               

“Jon,” I struggle but I made it up and arrange my skirt. “That’s not what I mean.”               

“So, what did you mean then?” he turns around to give me an annoyed look. I approach, as if he’s a lion I need to tame.               

“I just mean that we still need to do some convincing.” I wrap my arms around his waist as he returns to the sink and washes more plates. “And maybe planning too. To show her that we are ready for the merge and that it won’t ruin Darcy’s.”             

“Of course, it wouldn’t hurt Darcy’s.” he say almost indignantly.             

But I know my mother and this is her worst fear. Darcy’s been in the family for so many generations. Nothing about the shop have changed except for a few interior and exterior repairs for the premises but the food, the drinks, the way we handle finances and the staff, it’s basically all eighteenth-century old—all within family tradition.             

That is the reason, I guess, why Darcy’s has kept its charm. But in this fast-paced world, we are definitely getting left behind. For example, I hadn’t realized how important electric plugs are up until the college students showed up with their gadgets and laptops that needed recharging, or the nutritional and dietary demands of the vegetarians and fitness buffs. Over the years of taking over Darcy’s there were little changes that I made. My mother turned a blind eye when I told her I started getting help from Jon and that I was actually dating him. But a merger is something she wouldn’t ignore.

“Should I send her flowers?” Jon asks, still busy with the plates but more calm now, if not actually bothered.

“Sure,” I hug him tighter. “She loves carnations.”              

“Will that make her approve of the merge?”             

I am honest. “Not in the slightest but that will remind her that you’re more than just a business partner now.”              

Jon turns to look at me with a curious but obviously happy face. “And what am I exactly?”             

I scowl at him because he is so much full of himself but we’ve been dating for a little over a year now and this little tidbit about Jon makes him even more endearing to me. He shares his confidence with me.             

“You’re my boyfriend, you silly.” I pinch him lightly and help him dry the plates.             

“Psh...” Jon sneers. “Tell that to Michael. Actually, I’d really love to tell him that.”             

I laugh heartily because he’s adorable when he’s jealous. Michael, by the way, is this art student from the university who’s got a little crush on me ( _I know, right?_ ) and Jon isn’t taking it too fondly. But Michael adds up in the daily cash I can’t really just throw him out of the shop. Besides, I won’t take him seriously.               

“Jon, he’s just a kid. Let him be.” I chuckle again. “And besides, we’ve got a bigger problem than Michael.”               

I hear him sigh.               

We are quiet for a while, just the water running and the still abundant plates to be washed in between us. It might not be much of a big deal for some but I know Jon’s taking it extremely close to heart most especially he’s been excited about the merging since we initially planned it—that and he’s been trying to impress my mother for some reason.               

“It’ll work out, love. I promise.”               

He nudges me and smiles. “I promise that too.”               

I give him a quick peck on the cheeks, but my god, he is my Jon so the dishes goes unnoticed the second time around as he grabs me and I see the wrath of the chives on the steel table once again.

 

 

**

 

“Mother called.”

It’s the first thing that Arya tells me when I enter the shop. She’s arranging the muffin platter and I am barely awake that I don’t even register. 

“Whaa?” I say as I yawn. 

“Mother,” she rolls her eyes on me. “She called. Asked me why Jon sent her some flowers and I told her how would I know? I’m not the one he’s sleeping with.” 

“Arya!” 

“So I just told her that maybe he got you pregnant or something.” 

I shove her to the side as I grab for the shop’s landline, Arya chuckling behind me. 

She answers on the first ring.

“Are you pregnant?” my mother’s voice is throaty as hell.

I look behind me and give Arya an evil stare as she pulls her tongue at me and continues plating the rest of the pastries.

I roll my eyes. “No, mom. I’m not pregnant.”

Arya laughs again but I ignore her.              

“Good.” My mother replies. She doesn’t say it with finality like she doesn’t want me pregnant but it has that tone of authority it rubs me off wrong.               

“Do you have a problem if I get pregnant?”               

“Of course not, dear.” she says in surprise. “Perhaps, this is not just the right time. Especially…”              

“Yes?”

“Especially with Jon and his, well… his intent for the shop. Is that why he sent me the flowers?”              

Oh, lord.              

“Mother,” I start but she doesn’t let me.               

“Now, now my daughter.” she almost says with a ‘tsk’. “I am not saying I have any right to interfere with your relationship with him—I mean, I do, I am your mother—but the point is that you are an adult now and I give you your freedom when it comes to dealing with men. But when it comes to dealing businesses with men—”              

“Mother, he’s not just any other man—”              

“That is not the point, Sansa—”             

“—He is Jon, my boyfriend, Jon. And I know—”           

“—Darcy’s been in the family for ages and I just—”           

“—it will be good for business, mom—”             

“—I don’t think I can handle—”               

“—we need to move one—”              

“—seeing it running with another store.” 

And then there you go.              

The line is quiet and I hear Arya talking to our first customer but there’s only buzzing in my ears. This might take longer than I expected.               

“Mom,” I sigh. “The store is mine now.”              

“I know darling and I trust you wholeheartedly.”               

“Then what is the problem?”              

“I trust you but not him.” she replies almost in a beat, as if she’s been waiting for this part of the conversation to be brought up. “I don’t trust Jon yet.”              

“But I trust him, mom.”              

“And you are my daughter.” she explains. “I just can’t let you go gallivanting about the business with a man you are sleeping with.”               

“Mother!” I am in shock.               

“Okay, that was unnecessary but do you see my point?”              

“No, not exactly!” I almost shout.             

“Business and pleasure are two different things, sweetheart.”           

“Whatever is my business _is_ also Jon’s.”            

There is a pause before she speaks again.              

“And if you guys break-up?” she challenges. “What’s going to happen then?”          

I try to rebut but I am out of words. Truthfully, it’s a situation that hasn’t even crossed my mind. And I am not prepared for it.

 

 

**

 

I am quiet the entire day and despite the few occasional texts from Jon (which usually gets me on a lighter mood even if press time in the shop), I can’t concentrate on anything else.            

Arya’s giving me the look but I don’t indulge her. But perhaps my quietness unnerved both Jon and Arya that as I am baking some more muffins, I hear Arya entering the shop’s kitchen.             

“Can you please talk to her? She’s like a zombie for hours now.”            

I don’t need to look to see who she’s talking to because there can only be him. Jon scoots closer to me and helps me with the first trays and places them inside the oven. I’m still not looking at him because I’m terrified that if I do, he’d see what’s bothering me.               

Maybe he’d see my hesitations now.              

“Sansa,” he sighs. “What’s wrong?”              

I shrug but still not look. “Nothing.”             

“You know that doesn’t work for me anymore, right?”               

“What?”               

“You know, that look. That look of feign ignorance but there it is,” he reaches for my shoulder and smooths it. “Here in your shoulders, the hunch. Then in your forehead, the crease.” He moves a hand on my forehead. Then he turns my head and cups my cheek.               

“Seriously, Sansa.” he frowns in concern. “I know something’s bothering you.”               

I exhale and turn the mixer off.               

“I talked to my mom again.”               

Jon’s grip loosens as if my mother is a death sentence—maybe she is.              

“I heard from Arya. What did she say?”               

“Well, she’s curious about the flowers.”            

“And?”               

I shrug. “Still not convinced of the merger.”            

Jon completely lets me go now and leans on the table and crosses his arms. “What does she want? We can go to her house and explain the plan.”               

But that isn’t just it, right? It’s not the plan because the plan is perfect albeit a few compromises on both our ends. But at the end of the day, it’s never just the business. In our situation, it can never just be.               

Is my mother right?              

“Jon,” I try to look at him but I can’t so instead, I look down—on my feet, on the linoleum, wherever. “Maybe we should think this through.”               

“Goddamn it!” Jon slams his hand on the steel counter that I jump. Still not looking up, I can tell that he is fuming because he’s breathing hard. “And you’re telling this to me _now_? We’ve been over this for a long time, Sansa. We can’t just keep on going and make it all unofficial. The customers are getting confused.”               

“I know, I know…” I grab my head, almost pulling my hair in frustration. “But aren’t we too… hasty?”               

“Hasty? _Hasty_?” Jon exclaims. “It’s been almost a year since we planned this!”              

“Jon, I just can’t let the opinion of my mother go unnoticed.”              

“That’s why I told you we should explain to her fully!”               

“It’s not… it’s not that easy with her.”               

“Sansa,” Jon runs his hand on his face, rubbing his stubble. “Tell me. Tell me what we should do then?”               

Breathing hard, I say it finally. “I think we should postpone this.”               

Jon slams the table again. “Let’s talk when you’re in your senses.”               

Without saying anything else, he walks out as Arya walks in with some dishes.      

Perplexed, she asks. “What was that about? Are you guys okay?”              

I stop the tears from coming as I say, “Yeah, we’re just… talking.”

 

**

 

But we weren’t just talking. I haven’t called Jon nor my mother since yesterday’s events but there’s this consistent push and pull inside of me because clearly, it’s a battle between Jon and my mother now—both of whom I love dearly.              

I can’t reconcile the thought and the possibility of a break-up with Jon. Are we just blissfully ignorant to take a break-up scenario into consideration as we plan the merging of our shops? Are we that confident in our relationship to think that yes, it can work possibly, forever? Or are we simply too naïve?               

Thinking of the word _forever_ gives me the chills. Is that too childish, even? Like, what have we gotten ourselves into? 

On the other hand, thinking of it that way is a betrayal to Jon’s passion and trust in me and Darcy’s. We’ve worked all yearlong for the merger and there’s me ruining it all. But if we break-up, what’s going to happen? It’s not only me who’s going to be hurt but the business too. So maybe we shouldn’t have been _too hasty_ about this… 

There’s a knock on my apartment door and interrupts my thinking. I peep through the hole and my breath is taken away because it’s Jon—disheveled and slightly wet from the rain. My heart jumps and I open the door.

But he doesn’t give me a second to even welcome him. He walks straight inside, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and starts to speak—as if on a mission. And maybe he is.

“Okay, so I have a plan.” he starts. He looks up at me hopeful and almost with a grin. “We’ll make your mom part of the business. Again.”

 _No. That’s not going to help at all,_ I want to say.

I try to hide my sadness so I busy myself instead in getting more towels and preparing hot drinks as he continues talking about his idea. 

“Think about it, love. I mean, I really don’t mind. Your mom can keep the traditional side of the shop and we can run the business side and other innovations. I mean, win-win, right? And,” He chuckles as he continues, “I am willing to let go of the _cinnamon_.” 

That makes me stop in my tracks, my arms in midair as I reach for mugs on the cupboard. Tempting.

The _cinnamon_ is a bet I lost when we can’t decide which recipe we’re going to use once Corner Ave and Darcy’s merge: it was between my nana’s traditional one and his green tea fusion. I lost when the football match we entrusted the bet ended in his favor, 2-4.

“What do you think?” Jon’s eyes are gleaming in excitement. “We can drive up there to her house right this evening if you want.”

I gain my composure back and start to make tea. He’s watching as I prepare and only up until I am beside him in the counter that I start to speak.

“Jon, I don’t think that’s going to work. Mom doesn’t want to do business.”

“If we could just show her—“

His determination is breaking my heart and I know that the longer I keep this going, the uglier this is going to get. So I go in for the kill, praying in my head that he would understand.

“Jon,” I breathe and hold his arm—for support, for myself or for him, I’m not even sure. “The thing is, mom doesn’t want to do business. Not because she hates the improvements… but because…”

Silence. I grip him tighter.

“What, Sansa?” 

“Because I’m doing it with you.”

Damn. 

I don’t realize he’s holding his breath until he slacks and breathes loudly. “That’s… that’s unexpected.”

I can’t speak. Jon and I, we are—we were—doing so well. Is this the tipping point? The one my mother is referring to? A challenge we can’t overcome? An anticipated break-up? 

“It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” I try to explain. He already looks so disheartened I don’t want to say more but _he needs to know_. 

“My mother thinks that our lives are just so… entangled, so involved… that it’s difficult to create a business together.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense, it’s all the more—” 

I cut him. 

“What if we break-up, Jon? How would that be?”

 

 

**

 

“I can’t believe you even think about that.” he murmurs. I see his hands in tight fists.

“I don’t… I mean, it’s just… it’s a _possibility_.” 

“And you consider it.” Jon mumbles. This is probably worse than if he just shouted at me.

“I’m just thinking in a business point of view.” I still try to explain even if I know it’s a lost cause. I’ve offended him and looking at Jon right now—and at how he avoids eye contact—I’ve ruined it. And I don’t know how to fix it.

“That’s just…” he groans in disappointment. “That’s unbelievable…”

“I don’t want it to happen, Jon, of course,” I say. “But a lot is at stake here. Your business, my business, your money, my money… all of it can be ruined the moment we get our personal lives involved.”

I pause to stare at him but Jon’s already lost in thought as he gazes outside. 

“Maybe it can’t work.” I finish. 

He’s not looking at me but he’s quiet and the idea that there are unfathomable decisions and things he’s rummaging through his brain right now scare me. 

After a while he nods and looks at me, anger visible on his face. 

“You’re right,” he says so with a sneer and sarcasm I feel anger rising in my chest too. I stop myself because I know it is my doing. He needs time to accept this. “It’s never going to work.” 

I look up.

“This,” he stands up and extends his hands for emphasis. “Whatever this thing is between us. It’s not going to work.”

What?

“Jon,”

“I mean, how could it when for a simple business plan you doubt our relationship.”

 _What the fuck?_  

“Jon!” 

“I can’t do this.” He shakes his head as he walks away quickly but I grab him by the arm. 

“Jon, what are you doing?” 

“Doing what you love to think about, breaking up.” 

“What? No!” 

_Where did that even come from?_

“Let’s just think this through. You can’t do business with me and I can’t continue this relationship until you trust me.” 

“But I trust you!” 

He laughs but I wince because I know it’s meant for me to feel bad about what I’ve done. And I’m feeling bad already because this isn’t what I expected to happen. It’s getting out of control. 

“But I don’t want to break-up!” I reason with Jon.

“Well, you’re not the only one with a say on that one, are you? Or would you like to ask your mother first?” 

That isn’t fair and I feel like he almost slapped me. Hurt, I let his arms go and take a step back. He breathes hard again and ruffles his hair. 

“I’ll just…” he tries to say, more composed this time. “I’ll call… or…I don’t know.” 

With that, Jon leaves the room and slams the door. I’m still left petrified, standing and unmoving. What have I done? That escalated quickly than I could even comprehend. I’ve lost Jon. _Oh my God._  

As I gain back my senses, I do the only thing I know best. 

I bake.

 

**

 

 

There are trays and trays of cookies. It smells wonderful but I can’t almost appreciate it—that and my tears are blurring my eyesight once again I don’t know if I’m even mixing the right ingredients.               

The jazz music (which ironically is a playlist from Jon) from my iPod took an almost nostalgic turn that I sob. Hard. Like a kid. I place the whisk and bowl back on the kitchen table and I just let myself weep.

I left my mother a short message and told her of the events the constituted after she made the suggestion of not pushing through the merger. I don’t intend to blame her but I want her to know what is has done to me and my relationship with Jon.

The jazz music continues and it echoes in Darcy’s kitchen. This scene is overly familiar except for my squishy shoes, wet because of the rain as I ran from my apartment to the shop. My tears are still rolling and I still hide my face behind my hands when the door swung open and I hear his voice.

“Dark chocolates?” 

Jon. 

I look up and yes, there he is—even scruffier and wetter than I’ve seen him hours ago. 

“You do realize it’s almost three am, right?” he asks as he leans on the wall opposite the steel counters. 

“You weren’t picking up your phone and when I went back to your apartment, no one’s answering. I got worried.” He says so nonchalantly. I stare at him almost in wonder but my heart is skipping fast. 

 _He is here! He is here!_  

I sniff. “I felt like baking.”               

His chuckle is a warm welcome. “I figured so when I saw the lights turned on, I knew you were here. Baking.” As he says this, he picks up a cookie from the nearest tray and rounds the counter until he’s only a few inches away from me. He takes a bite and I couldn’t get my eyes off him because didn’t he say we’ve broken up?               

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.               

He swallows before answering. “Your mom called me.”               

My eyes widen.             

“And, _your Michael_ left a message.” Jon pulls a soggy paper from his pocket. “Says he has two tickets available for the orchestra this weekend. So, I took the liberty of saying you are absolutely not available anytime soon—and anytime soon I meant, definitely not available for the rest of his miserable university life.”              

“Jon…”              

“You’re right, Sansa.” He exhales, throwing the paper away. “We do have to think about a lot of things. You mom has a point. Our relationship can ruin the business. I mean, it’s working perfectly now, isn’t it?”               

I can’t hear what he said because there’s only one thing on my mind. “We’re not broken up?”             

Jon reaches to move away stray hairs from my face. “Nah, couldn’t take myself seriously.”               

Then I am sobbing again—those ugly, baby, crumpled face sobs. Good thing Jon pulls me into another tight hug he can’t see my face.               

“As an apology, I promise to go to your mom’s place every weekend to explain all our plans in detail—and to cook dinner.” Jon explains as he soothes my hair.               

“Really?” I hear my muffled voice.               

He chuckles. “That’s your mother’s condition anyway.”               

I remind myself to call mom later on.               

I look up at him and wipe my eyes. “I’ll join you.”               

There’s an obvious relief on his face as he breathes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”              

After a while, I add because I don’t want to leave it hanging. “So, the merger?”             

“On hold,” Jon shrugs. “But not scrapped. And I think I know what your mom is up to anyway.”              

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”               

“What do you think of marriage, love?”

 

* * *

 


End file.
